


The New Regime

by CynicalGinger



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Relationships, Feelings, Feelings are metal, Multi, Recovery, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2018-09-24 23:45:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9792374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalGinger/pseuds/CynicalGinger
Summary: After the events of Doomstar, Abigail and Toki are dealing with their traumas and coming to terms with what has happened. Unfortunately for them, there is a monumental power vacuum in Dethklok, and with Charles gone they need someone responsible, reliable, and ruthless to take the lead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in the works for a LONG time. I love Abigail so much and SHE DESERVED WAY BETTER THAN WHAT DOOMSTAR AND SEASON 4 GAVE HER. Ngl everyone deserved better but ABIGAIL ESPECIALLY DESERVED BETTER.

At night, the hospital was an eerie place to be in. The walls and floor and machinery seemed to meld into each other in the darkness, creating dark, menacing shapes. Clawed shadows stretched across the room from the window, where knarled tree branches became demonic hands clutching at the hospital bed. The sheets, pristine in the day and dull grey at night, offered little by way of protection from anything sinister, and yet the bed's occupant was sleeping with little difficulty.

 

The ease with which Toki found slumber was undeniably because too much had happened to him in the last however long his time in captivity had been. Every second that he hadn't been lulled into sleep and relaxation by Abigail, Toki had been alert and afraid of whatever was coming next, and that state had been a constant for his whole imprisonment. In the immediate aftermath of Dethklok rescuing him, Toki had been running on adrenaline and relief and an overwhelming, overpowering sense of love and power that radiated from him like a shield. He had felt as though his feelings were too big for his form, like they were wrapped around him and protecting him from everything else.

 

Doing a concert whilst high on those feelings had been. Easy, almost. But after that last performance, after putting so much stress and strain on his body, after all of the tortures and horrifying things he had been through… Toki just couldn't sustain it.

 

"I feels kind of weird," was all that Toki had managed to say before he fainted.

 

Later, Toki had woken up in a hospital room, surrounded by people he couldn't quite understand. Everything was fuzzy to him. He wanted to reach out, but his arms were so weak that he couldn't even do that properly. Normally he would have started to panic, but there wasn't really enough fight in him for that. It was fine. This was peaceful. He didn't have to think. He couldn't think. This was easier.

 

-

 

"Let me see him!"

 

"Ms Remeltndrinc, you shouldn't be out of bed."

 

"Fuck you, I'm in a damn chair. Let me see Toki."

 

"Really Ms Remeltndrinc, you need to be calm. I understand your frustration, but there's no need for that. It's next of kin only at this point."

 

"He's my brother, I should be able to see him."

 

The argument outside stirred something in Toki. Abigail. Abigail was fighting to get to see him. Horrible guilt crept through him. He hadn't thought about her. He had been hyper focused on playing and on being free and shooing away medical staff. He should probably have been paying more attention to important things instead of stumbling into another concert. Yet in spite of that, here Abigail was. Yelling at some poor orderly and calling him her brother. Because she wanted to make sure he was okay.

 

The orderly sighed. "Ms Remeltndrinc, you're not making my job easy. If I let you spend five minutes with him, will you stop disrupting my ward?"

 

"Yes! We could have avoided this if you had listened to me the first time I /patiently/ explained the situation." The creaking of the door opening and the clunk of metal as Abigail wheeled herself into the room were welcome, jarring sounds. "Hey."

 

"Abigail." Toki tried to sit and winced when he noticed the drip and needles in his arm. They weren't exactly painful, but they unnerved him. The most he could manage movement wise was to shift his hand closer to Abigail. "You goings to gets in troubles over old Toki?"

 

"Don't worry about that." Abigail gently held Toki's hand in her own, and the sensation of her worn skin against his was the realest thing Toki had felt since leaving captivity. This was clearer to him than anything else had felt since he had woken up.

 

"Can'ts helps it." Toki said. "I didn'ts think," he faltered. "I didn'ts thinks you was goings to stay in a Dethklok place."

 

"Oh believe me, it wasn't my choice." Abigail frowned. "Offdensen had me sent here. My wound was a mess, my legs are trash and I was so malnourished I couldn't put up a fight. Have to admit though, the free healthcare almost makes up for all the bullshit."

 

Toki shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorries."

 

Abigail visibly softened at Toki's apology. "Hey. None of what I've been through is your fault, okay? None of it. None of the shit Magnus did was on us."

 

That of course left the implication that there was in fact a guilty party at fault. Magnus had taunted them both when they were locked in that basement cell, of how they were alone and how the band had clearly decided to abandon them to rot. Toki hadn't wanted to believe it, had tried to ignore it and think about the past. Abigail didn't sound like someone who had discovered that Magnus had been lying about everything. Although she was markedly calmer, Toki could feel anger clinging to her like a shield. "Abigail…" he said, trying to find the right words, "did they… did the guys really…"

 

"Shhh." Abigail silenced him. "When I'm not about to be dragged back to my room, we'll talk about everything. I promise. Forget it for now. Are you holding up?”

 

Toki went to lie, but stopped himself in time. Nothing was okay. The way he felt, things might never be okay. Abigail had helped get him through the worst experience of his life, and if he owed anyone in the world his honesty, it was her. "Not reallies. I don'ts know ifs feelings okay happens anymore."

 

"Same here Toki." Abigail gently squeezed his hand. "Same here."

 

They sat together until the orderly started making impatient noises, at which point Abigail wheeled herself out with a promise to be back. It was only once she had left that Toki realised exactly how big and empty the room felt without her. Even so, in that empty, dark room, Toki found that he was too tired to stay awake. He wondered if one of the drips was feeding him a painkiller. Everything was numb and sluggish again, and it was a little bit too easy for Toki to slip back under the shadows.

 

_

 

Several days passed in a blur of sleep and drowsily taking meds. Toki was aware of someone beside him with rough skin and clipped nails holding his hand at intervals – Abigail. Sometimes there was someone else beside him, but that only happened when Abigail wasn’t there. That person had longer fingers and softer hands, which led Toki to believe that it had to be Skwisgaar. That didn’t seem right though. Skwisgaar hated Toki, and Toki hated Skwisgaar. Or at least, Skwisgaar had been an ass and Toki was angry at him. Anyway, Dethklok had left Toki and Abigail to rot, even after Nathan and Pickles had fucked up the band because of her.

 

No, Toki thought, that wasn’t right. Abigail made one mistake in a moment of desperation that she had tried to fix immediately. _Nathan_ had decided to act like an asshole and be a total creep towards her when it was obvious that she wasn’t interested, and _Pickles_ had completely overreacted to the idea that Abigail might have preferred Nathan over him. Yeah, for two people who acted like they cared about Abigail, they hadn’t cared enough to actually do anything to save her from Magnus and the Assassin sooner.

 

None of Dethklok had cared enough to go after them sooner. Or at least, it didn’t look like they had.

 

When Toki was awake enough to receive visitors consciously, he asked that he be allowed some time alone. He heard the doctors sending Dethklok away – he heard Nathan’s confused rumble, and Pickles trying to argue back, and Murderface saying something that was probably offensive, and Skwisgaar saying something that was _definitely_ offensive. It made Toki wonder if he was perhaps wrong, but it did not stall his resolve any.  There was one person who he genuinely wanted to see, and he doubted that the doctors would let Abigail come to him.

 

It was a shame that none of the doctors had expressly forbidden Toki to leave his own room. It was also a shame that one of the doctors responsible for his care had left her white coat in the room after having rushed away to deal with something. It was _definitely_ a shame that Skwisgaar (judging by the pale hairs that clung to it) had left a hair tie in the room. The biggest shame of all was that when Toki slung on the coat and tied up his hair, he didn’t look too out of place. Of course, it was a shame for the doctors, who were rushed off of their feet, but as far as Toki was concerned, it was a stroke of extremely good luck.

 

Disguised, Toki stepped out of his room and shut his door with an almost inaudible _click_. Abigail’s room was right across the hall from his, her name printed in big letters on a shiny plaque on the door. Toki went to knock, but thought better of it when he saw a nurse turning a corner. He opened the door and closed it after himself as quickly as possible. “Hi Abi.”

 

Abigail snapped shut the notebook she had been working on in surprise. “Toki! For fuck’s sake, learn how to knock!” Her smile took any harshness out of her words, Toki thought. She concealed the tiny laptop in the bedside cabinet and hugged him. He was almost afraid to touch her, he had seen the amount of pain Abigail had endured before. He didn’t want to be the cause of more. Fear made Toki gentle. He thought that, and then he swiftly pushed that thought right to the back of his head. This was Abigail. She was alive and real, and definitely not to blame for any of the shit they had found themselves in.

 

“Haves you been treatsed well heres?” Toki asked.

 

Abigail laughed bitterly. “You mean apart from being told to stay in bed and being talked down to by medical staff? Yeah, it’s been fine. The food is a lot better here, and I’m not paying a cent.”

 

The forced cheerfulness of her statement was pronounced, and it made Toki’s heart sink. He fidgeted awkwardly with his hands, trying to order his thoughts. “Abi… ams sorry you went through this. I don’ts know hows to makes it right, but I wants to try. You did lots of goods for me. I didn’ts think I was goings to gets out and…” his voice cracked, “and you was maybies the only thing what kept me sane.”

Any pretence at being fine drained from Abigail’s face. Her mouth was a hard line, clearly fighting to hold back whatever she had bottled up. Abigail couldn’t speak, it was clear that the moment that she tried to speak would give way to tears. She gestured at Toki to sit beside her on the bed, and Toki scrambled to comply. He managed to get himself next to her, threw his arm over her shoulders and hugged her into his chest as she started to cry. Toki could feel himself crying as well. As he held Abigail he could feel great, shuddering sobs wracking his body. There was nothing that Toki wanted more in the universe than to make things better, to help in some way, but he wasn’t sure how the hell he could help when he couldn’t even say anything even vaguely comforting. ‘I’m sorry’ wasn’t good enough.

 

What else was there? Toki thought. He was here, and he was doing _something_ , even if it wasn’t good enough. What mattered was that Abigail was upset and hugging him and he was holding onto her like she was a lifeline. Abigail had been his lifeline, and she had done it while suffering through so much bullshit. “You… you haves been stronger than anyones else I ever mets. Ams prouds to know you, you haves been a good friend.”

 

Abigail sniffed. “You asshole. I’m so mad at you.” She lied, pressing her face into Toki’s shirt and ignoring the spreading dampness. “I fucking hate being here. I hate this place so much. I just… I don’t want this bullshit.”

 

“Me too.” Toki felt like he knew where Abigail was. Anger and restlessness and resentment and more anger piled on top. “I just wants to feels like things worked out.”

 

“Things didn’t fucking work out.” Toki could swear he felt the force of Abigail’s glare against his skin. “This doesn’t magically fucking go away.”

 

“No, I didn’ts think so.” Toki admitted. “I’m heres for you. I promises that I will stays with you, and we ams goings to get betters.”

 

Abigail took hold of one of Toki’s hands and squeezed it. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toki and Abigail take a step forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So life happened and I put writing fanfic on hold for a while. I'm still taking things as they come. Thank you so much for all of the lovely messages about my work, it really meant a lot to me and ultimately brought me back here.

At some point Toki must have drifted off, because he woke to Abigail furiously typing on her notebook and muttering under her breath about _damn Offdensen_. He remembered pulling a chair over to sit beside Abigail and talking for hours about how shit everything was. Abigail had pulled up video footage of the other members of Dethklok partying themselves to oblivion, dated before their rescue. They had watched that horrific concert video. Abigail had been rightfully pissed. Toki had just been upset. But they had talked about it, and even though Abigail was still pissed off, and Toki was still upset, it felt… less visceral.

The more Toki thought about it, the less shock he felt. Dethklok hadn’t been able to pull themselves together to save them. What else was new? Dethklok had nearly self-destructed so many times over it was a miracle anything survived. Toki knew this. Worse, he understood it. He had been the reason for about a fifth of the destructive bullshit Dethklok experienced, after all. Maybe even more. Things were a little hazy. He liked to think that he would have stepped up if it had been one of the guys who had been taken. What if it had been Murderface, or Nathan, or Pickles, or… or Skwisgaar? He loved them. But would he have lost hope after Offdensen tried and failed to find them? Would he too have drowned his sorrows in booze and drugs and whatever else?

Probably.

The thoughts going through Toki’s head were sobering. He knew one thing though, one thing that was in his favour. He wouldn’t have been okay with replacing someone else with a hologram and ignoring the fact that one of the group was alive and in pain. He might not have felt able to do anything about the kidnapping, and he would definitely have fallen in to despair, but he liked to think that at the _very_ least, he would not have been okay with it.

Was that a good baseline? Toki wondered. Was it enough to say, ‘I forgive you for not coming to get me because I’m a fuck up and as long as you weren’t okay with what you did we can move on’? Or was that not enough? Was it still unacceptable that this thing had been done to him, even if he was a fuck up? _Yes,_ he thought with something like conviction. It was still bad. And now that it had happened to him, Toki knew that if he was ever in a position where one of the guys was taken, he knew for certain he would stop at nothing to get them out. Not because he was any better than them, but because he had lived it. Nobody should have ever experienced purgatory-like state, waiting for torture and welcoming death-

-except he wasn’t there anymore, Toki reminded himself, clenching his hand into a fist and letting his nails bite into his skin. Abigail had saved him, before the guys ever got near them. She had taken his fear away, and kept him sane when he needed that. He wouldn’t flatter himself with thoughts that he had made the experience better for Abigail. They suffered together, but Abigail held her head high and cradled his broken body time after time. Abigail was far stronger, and far more competent than Toki had any hope of being. She stared death in the face and accepted it. He stared death in the face and regressed. Losing himself in memories was how he held on.

Even though the guys deserved to feel some serious wrath…what exactly would Toki solve with that? When he was fundamentally no better than the rest of them? In the end, they had come for him. It was a shitshow of a rescue, that was true. To say they had cut it close was an understatement. But, they had come. In the end, they came.

Toki knew he should take his time thinking over what had happened to him. He should really process his trauma before he even thought about whether or not he actually wanted to go back to Dethklok. About whether he was ready to face up to the guys and embrace his chaotic, messy family. Alas, Toki wasn’t a very patient person. He wasn’t careful, and he wasn’t responsible, and he wasn’t magically changed by everything he had been through. If anything was different, it was that he never wanted to take the things in his life for granted. And…maybe there was something new under his skin. Maybe he felt a flicker of something that could turn into a flame. Was it creativity? Passion? A deep, yearning longing for familiarity? He couldn’t say, but he wanted to chase that feeling. He wanted to be back where things made sense, even if that sense was dangerous.

He looked up at Abigail and smiled contentedly. “Abigail? I thinks I would like to go back.”

Abigail glanced up from her laptop. “You never did have much sense, Toki.” She huffed in laughter. “Maybe it's catching.”

_

Of course, Offdensen would have to barge his way into Abigail’s room after she specifically said she wanted sweet fuck all to do with him. He looked pretty good for a guy who had been through hellish stress for months on end. He traded out his ill-fitting suit for a cultist’s robe at some point, Abigail noted. She wasn’t sure if that was an improvement or not. Personally, she was more fond of his casual jacket than any of his attempts to be formal and dignified. He tried too hard, did Offdensen.

“I take it this isn’t a social call?”

“You know I wouldn’t disturb you if it wasn’t, ah, urgent.”

“That’s bullshit, but please continue.” Abigail gestured to where Toki lay slumped across her bed. “I would invite you to sit, but as you can see, my bed is occupied.”

“No need. I won’t be long.” Charles shifted uncomfortably. “I wanted to extend my apologies for being unable to locate you sooner, Abigail.”

“Well, I was at the bottom of a pit. Can’t blame you for not looking there.” Abigail eyed him warily. “Charles, if you have something to ask me, ask me. If you don’t, kindly fuck off. I’m trying to salvage what little is left of my career.”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk about. I have…well, I have a business proposition for you.” Charles pulled off his spectacles to clean them as he talked. “There is now a power vacuum in Dethklok’s management. I’m just swamped keeping the Church in line, and the boys need someone to keep things ticking over until I can get back. Or…well, until they don’t need a manager any longer.”

“And you want me to put up with that volatile mess until something kills me or you find someone else stupid enough to say yes?” Abigail laughed. It was verging on hysteria, but that seemed to be a constant these days. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to say yes? There’s no amount of money you could offer that would make me say yes.”

“It’s not about the money, Abigail.” Charles said. “It’s about something so, so much more.”

“What?”

“Prestige.” He looked her dead in the eyes, and without his glasses he had a steely gaze that could pierce through concrete. “Abigail, one of two things would happen. Either Dethklok will crack under the pressure of your guidance, or they will be reborn. You would be known as the producer who broke Dethklok and brought the music industry to its knees, or the producer who saved Dethklok from mediocrity and brought the music industry to its knees. Either way, you walk away from this as a legend. A very wealthy legend.”

Damn. He had her there. Charles knew exactly how to pique Abigail’s interest. “That’s almost tempting. But nothing on this earth could make me get back with Dethklok. After the hell I was dragged through last time? It’s not worth it Charles.”

“The same thing wouldn’t happen this time.” Charles moved closer, perching himself on the end of Abigail’s bed. “I know you’re angry about what happened. You have every right to feel that way. If you decide that you want nothing more to do with the band after everything we put you through, nobody will force you to come back. Your medical expenses will be paid, and you will be compensated for your considerable trouble. But if you stay,” he continued, “you will be welcomed with open arms. And if you stay…I can make sure that you grow stronger. You would be strong enough to be more than a match for any threat the world could throw at you. Of course, I can’t let an outsider in on my methods. You would have to be with us, Abigail.”

Charles had her, and the bastard knew it. Abigail sighed, but she couldn’t fight the feeling of curiosity and interest rising in her chest. The truth was, even with everything that had happened, Dethklok was the most interesting challenge she had ever taken on. Sure, they were the same kind of douchebags she dealt with on a regular basis in the industry, but amplified. Turned up to the highest setting and left to blare whatever chaotic nonsense they wanted. Nobody was quite like Dethklok, and nobody ever would be.

“You have five minutes to convince me."

_

_There could be no argument when it came to the Church of the Black Klok and the leader of Dethklok. Disagreements would always be possible, and gentle encouragement was naturally a part of the position of the Priest. But Ishnifus  knew that the Church and the Leader worked best when they were as one. One heart, one loyalty, one mind. Charles understood this better than Ishnifus could have hoped – and yet, he did not have to hope. He trusted in the power of the prophecy, but even more than that he trusted in the power of people. The power to become something greater. People could be wonderful and brilliant, given the chance. Charles was a shining example of what humanity could do when pushed, when forged in the heart of love and ruthless will. Oh, Ishnifus almost envied Charles. To be going through realisation and discovery was no easy task, but the inner calm and the sense of self that followed it was a marvellous thing to experience. Utter security in oneself, acceptance of one’s own flaws and ugliness and abilities and beauty. So many things occurred to Ishnifus that he wanted to tell Charles, but he was always reminded that their time together was limited. His disciple was ready, whether he wanted to be or not, for the challenges ahead._

_Ishnifus knew that when the time came, Charles would take his place as Priest of the Church. It was something he had taken great pains to make sure Charles understood. Charles had struggled against his destiny at first – not outwardly, but the conflict within himself was apparent. His love of Dethklok fought with his desire to see them safe. His desire to see them safe fought with his love of Dethklok. Having become the Deadman and leading Dethklok to safety for as long as he could, Charles was more than a competent replacement for Ishnifus. One could argue that Charles would fit the position hand in glove. Yet he held on, waiting, Ishnifus suspected, for the perfect replacement. Ah, but Ishnifus had seen what was to be, and no matter how much he told Charles gently that Dethklok would be guided once again, nothing would set that worried mind at ease._

_In Ishnifus’s mind, no such worries existed. This had been foreseen. To try and stand in the way of destiny was a fool’s task. Destiny was a great wave that swallowed everything in its path, no matter how hard one might try and pretend otherwise. Charles had served Dethklok well, but his style was now better suited to ruling over the Church and providing a learned ear and wise council to someone else._

_Ishnifus stopped to look up at the carvings on the walls. The Prophecy, in all of its glory, had unfolded thus far. No matter how absurd or impossible it might have seemed, Ishnifus had borne witness to such events. If he had any regret, it would be that he would not get to meet the new Leader, for Death was coming and it was coming fast for him. He would not live to see the new regime, but that was part of the job. Leaving a legacy, and hoping that it was enough._

_Old, worn hands with leathery skin traced the patterns on the walls. The representatives of Dethklok stood victorious, the world forever changed. And by their side, a carefully etched figure adorned with purple and gold. The Queen, who would rule after Charles. Her rule would be splendid, and her rule would be harsh, but her rule would be a fair one. The Queen who walked through fire, who drowned in blood, who decayed with Death as her companion, would rise from the horror and crush those who opposed her beneath her heel. Fire and brimstone were her weapons, but understanding tempered her wrath. She would guide Dethklok into a different world, and she would not hesitate to do what needed to be done to get them there._

_Of course, it was foolishness to guess at what exactly the words of the prophecy would mean in real terms. Insanity, to guess at what something like destiny had in store. Those people of the past who had borne witness to what would come could only write regarding their own experiences. Ishnifus had wondered in his youth about what it all meant. He had often tried to guess how it would unfold. The madness of knowing and not knowing, of seeing too much to live in ignorance but not enough to feel satisfied – it was unsustainable. Thankfully, that madness was a thing of the past. Ishnifus was content. Truly, his old age felt more comfortable than his youth ever had. His flesh was worn and wrinkled, his pride and beauty long since stripped from him. Time had moulded Ishnifus into the right man to guide Charles. Ishnifus was patient, and kind, and gentle, in ways Charles was not._

_That did not mean Charles was unworthy. Far from it. Charles Foster Offdensen was one of the best men Ishnifus had ever met, of that much he was sure. Charles was steadfast to his core. If he had a soul, it was steeped in loyalty and a lovely pragmatism. It was true that Charles had difficulty expressing himself, but that did not mean he was unfeeling. Ishnifus saw the way Charles clenched his fists when he was irritated by something: the way he let his head sink into his hands when he was distressed; the way his mouth formed a thin line of fury at any threat. Experience and the stress of managing Dethklok had formed Charles. Death and rebirth and agony: those had built him into something incomparable. In good conscience, this man unlike any other could not continue to lead as he once had.  Dethklok undoubtedly needed Charles, but they needed him to be at his best. And his best would be done with the Church._

_Whoever or whatever the Queen was, she would reign alongside Charles. Church and State, intertwined. Whether that would be good or bad, Ishnifus couldn’t say. The Queen looked down at Ishnifus, her face obscured by a veil. She looked as though she was in the process of lifting it, and perhaps her face would be smiling. Would it have been a loving smile, Ishnifus wondered, or a cruel, sardonic smirk?_

_Ishnifus hoped that after everything Dethklok had faced and would face, that the new world they found themselves in was far kinder than their present one. Of course, in the end it wouldn’t matter. He would would be dead before it all came to pass. He gave the Queen a knowing smile of his own, and meandered on his way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and reviews are very appreciated. Thank you lovely people for reading this fic. I can't promise that this will be finished in a timely manner, I'm spinning a lot of plates at the moment. What I can promise is to do my best to wrap this up. I like this story and I think it's worth telling.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated and provide a lot of motivation. I can't promise frequent updates because of my coursework, but I will do my best to write when I can.


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